


America's Daughter

by amandasarmada



Series: What Happened Next - Season 5 [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Politics, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4203765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandasarmada/pseuds/amandasarmada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow up to my story "The Dogs of War" - an alternate look at the resolution of Zoey Bartlet's kidnapping, the reaction by the West Wing staff, and the selection of a new Vice President.  Episodic format, featuring the whole cast. CJ/Danny, Josh/Donna, Jed/Abbey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	America's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter contains certain lines and scene outlines which are borrowed from the show – all credit goes to the original writers in such instances.

o-o-o-o-o OPENING DRUMROLL o-o-o-o-o  

Title: Five Hours Before First Scheduled Assassination

o-o-o-o-o

“Boys, I think you know why you're here,” President Walken said slowly, looking around the Oval Office at the Senior Staff.

“Yes, sir,” Josh spoke up, exchanging a glance with Leo.

“Do you have a list for me?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Leo replied, handing him the slip of paper.

“One name?” Walken asked, his gravelly voice sounding bemused as he grasped the note.

“Just the one,” Leo answered, nodding his head.

Walken looked down at the paper in his hand. “Yer shittin' me.”

C.J. and Toby stubbornly avoided one another's gaze, Toby closing his eyes in reticence.

“Well, it's your funeral,” Walken drawled, dropping the paper on the desk.

The paper read:

_Vice-Presidential Nominee_

_Ismael Darwish Sabir_

 

o-o-o-o-o

OPENING CREDITS

o-o-o-o-o

 

**Flashback:**

**October 1998**

He'd managed to find the only quiet room in the building, slipping away as his staff tried to placate Josh and Toby, who were currently in the midst of a blazing argument about something Jed had been trying wholeheartedly to ignore.

“Zoey, I'm sorry. I'm not going to be able to make it,” Jed said gently, his expression forcibly neutral as he spoke into the phone. “There's an important speech that just got moved forward. Toby thinks it could break the election if I have to cancel.” He paused, feeling ashamed. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

He held his breath, waiting for the tears. They didn't come. His brow furrowed.

“It's okay, Dad. I understand.” Her voice was quiet.

He frowned, his voice full of conviction. “I'm going to make it up to you Zoey, I promise. I'm going to think of something incredible.”

“More incredible than being elected President?” she joked. “Seriously. It's fine, Dad. It's Homecoming, not my wedding.” She chuckled softly.

“I swear to God, come hell or high water, I'll be there for it next year. You know you're going to get nominated again, right?” Jed urged her, trying to convince himself as much as her. “A bright, beautiful girl like you? You're a shoo-in. You're going to get it again as a senior, sweetheart, and your dad's going to be there to escort you in that parade. We'll snag a secret service car, do it in style – or hell, borrow C.J.'s mustang. You know you love that car.” The words tumbled out of him, as he tried to make things right. “I'm serious, Zoey, it doesn't matter - whether I'm President or I'm not, I'll be there next year.”

“I know, Dad.” Her voice was calm, her tone reassuring. “It's _okay_. I'll get Doug to do it, he can drive down in his BMW. Don't worry about it. I _understand_.” He could hear his daughter's smile even through the phoneline. “Good luck on your speech,” she said sweetly.

Jed was quiet. “You know I'm proud of you, right? And you're gonna win, sweetheart, I can feel it.”

“So are you, Dad.” He thought he heard her sigh. “You have to go, I know.”

“I'll call you again tonight, all right? Give your mother a kiss for me.”

“Sure Dad. Talk to you later. Love you.” A thousand miles away, the girl wiped a single tear from her eye, before her face settled into brave nonchalance.

“I love you too, Zoey.”

**The Present**

Bartlet sat on the couch in the residence, staring out into the distance. Abbey came in from behind, her face fiercely protected. He looked at her. She was staring at him, the anger and betrayal still in her eyes, a cover for the fear threatening to break loose. He nodded at her, accepting her condemnation. She watched him for a moment. He wished she wouldn't.

“Jed.”

“Yes, darling,” he replied, sighing - waiting for it. “What is it?”

“You know damn well 'what.' What's wrong with you?”

He was quiet, thinking about lying. He didn't see what the point would be. She'd know anyway, and she'd only get angrier with him.

“I can't move my arm,” he said quietly, after a moment of silence. “For about ten minutes now. I can't move it.”

She came to sit down next to him, staring in fright. “It's the MS,” she said softly. He nodded. She put her hand to his arm, rubbing it gently, as another pregnant moment hung over them. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you think I should resign, Abbey?” he whispered. “Permanently, I mean. Not just this-.”

Abbey gazed at him, tears in her eyes as she cut him off. “They elected you - even after they knew about the MS.” Her expression was fiercely defiant. “This is temporary.” A stray tear fell, and she squeezed his hand. “They elected you, Jed.”

o-o-o-o-o

Title: Four and a Half Hours Before First Scheduled Assassination

o-o-o-o-o

“'... _And with this, we see again that the prayers of Americans do not fall on deaf ears, for through the hopes of its people and the Grace of God -'_ ” Will pontificated, his voice ringing out even as he bowed his head in exhaustion.

“We want punch, not poetry,” Toby muttered to himself, puffing the air from his cigar and tipping his head wearily. He needed to stop smoking, he thought, silently berating himself. It was a bad example, not something he wanted the babies seeing him do, and it would go a long way towards showing Andy he wasn't the bitter, pessimistic man she thought she knew. He closed his eyes, smiling ruefully to himself. Or at least, he didn't have to be.

Toby sighed, letting loose another puff of smoke. He needed to stop, but it wasn't going to happen today.

“I still think you're making a mistake,” Will said, interrupting his private reflections. “The people aren't going to forget his humanity, and we don't want them to.”

“We want _p u n c h_ ,” Toby enunciated loudly, waving the cigar in his hand.

Will bounced the ball against the wall, leaning back in his chair. “Punch,” he said thoughtfully.

o-o-o-o-o

Across the country, Sam Seaborne sat in his new office - his eyes were locked on the television screen, yet it was muted, and from his expression he was clearly lost in thought. The beep of his computer startled him back to reality, and the familiar email address filled his heart with dread. He clicked it open, seeing the message. His eyes drifted over the words, his hands reaching for a pencil.  

> “ _Sam -_
> 
> _Your message was very kind. I've always thought, morbid as it is, that situations of despair bring out the best of your talent. This was no different. Things here are exactly what you'd imagine._
> 
> _Will and I are at a standoff. Two speeches need to be written, and we can't even agree on the easy one. You were right about him. He's doing well, but I don't know if I can write this with him. I need to go it alone. He's not ready for this one yet. Or maybe I'm not, it's not really clear to me._
> 
> _At any rate – this is difficult to ask, and I know you're busy, but any thoughts you might have on the second speech would be incredibly appreciated._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _-T_
> 
> _P.S. Andy had the babies. Will send pictures when all of this is over.”_

o-o-o-o-o

Back at the White House, C.J. stood before the press room, gazing out at the mass of reporters in front of her. “We have updates on the attack in Qumar. Intelligence tells us there have been approximately four thousand fatalities and another eight thousand injured, approximately a quarter of those civilians. Additional damage is being reported out of the area, including the destruction of a nearby food distribution center, which housed a major supply of the nation's produce.”

“C.J., what information can you give us on the FBI's plans in response to the additional kidnapping victims?” Chris called out.

“The FBI, Secret Service, and NSA are all continuing to investigate the disappearances, the details of which we cannot disclose at this time,” C.J. replied immediately.

“You can't give us anything at all?” Chris urged.

“Not without compromising the investigation,” C.J. said pointedly.

“C.J., what about reports coming out that President Walken asked Chairman Fitzwallace to recuse himself?”

“Admiral Fitzwallace remains a key military adviser to the President, and has served his duties faithfully,” C.J. said vaguely.

“C.J.-”

“That's all I have for you, I'll keep you updated with any new information on the hour,” C.J. promised.

She stepped out of the briefing room, walking quickly into the bullpen, hoping to shake off any reporters who might be trying to follow her. “What's going on?” she demanded.

She stared around the room, seeing their white faces. “Donna?” she asked, more gently this time, but with an edge underlying her voice.

“Another video was released,” Donna whispered. Her tear-stained face was glued to the screen, Josh standing behind her, his arm around her shoulder. C.J. turned to stare at the screen, her heart falling into her stomach.

On the screen, a man was laughing maniacally, bent over the unconscious body of Lewis Berryhill. She felt like she might get sick. “What's he saying?” Josh murmured.

It was the newscaster who answered. “He's bleeding.” The man on the screen continued to laugh, as he repeated the phrase over and over again, with the voiceover translating. “He's bleeding.”

 

o-o-o-o-o COMMERCIAL o-o-o-o-o

 

“WHERE ARE WE?” Walken roared around the room, his face ashen.

“We're working in conjunction with Saudi Arabia, and have interrogated over fifty members of the mosque the terrorists attended. Believe me, our people aren't the only ones who are bleeding,” Nancy replied fiercely.

“I want to send a message,” Walken said, screwing his face into an ugly grimace. “A message that we do not negotiate with terrorists, and that if they go through with their plans, then God help me, I will bring the full force and fury of the United States military on them and their homelands.”

“Well, in _that_ case, I'll just have C.J. pencil that into her next press release,” Leo spat out bitterly. Walken turned to throw him a deadly glare, before turning to Fitzwallace, his voice rippling through the tense air.

“What do you suggest?”

Fitz gazed at him steadily, then exchanged a glance with Nancy. “We're prepared to bomb another four targets throughout Qumar - we've got twenty-five planes stationed, ready to move into position on your order.” His face was oddly blank. “We agree that we need a clear display of our strength and resolve. Caving to their demands at this point would be catastrophic.”

“ _However,_ ” Nancy added, shooting a concerned look at Fitzwallace. “We're also making serious strides in our investigations. The FBI is tracing the origin of the email attachments sent to the news stations, and combining it with the rest of the intelligence gathered. If we rescue the prisoners, additional military force is excessive brutality on a country still technically regarded as our ally.”

“I want them moved into position,” Walken told Fitzwallace firmly. He turned to Nancy. “Find them, goddamn it. I don't want to have to have this discussion again.”

o-o-o-o-o

Title: Two and a Half Hours Before First Scheduled Assassination

o-o-o-o-o

Leo passed through the halls towards his office, looking as if he'd aged five years in the past five hours.

“Leo,” Toby said, coming into step with him.

“How are the speeches coming?” Leo asked, rubbing one of his eyes.

“You slept in the past forty-eight hours?” Toby replied.

“I got a three hour nap in,” Leo said brusquely. “How are the speeches coming?” he repeated.

“I'm working on them,” Toby said evasively.

“Both of them?” Leo asked knowingly.

“How's the President?” Toby asked, eager to change the subject.

“Pretty pissed,” Leo replied, shaking his head. _And panicking_ , he added to himself.

“No, President Bartlet,” Toby amended.

Leo stopped for a moment. “Not well,” he said finally.

Toby met his eyes. “He knows, if there's anything we can do...”

“He knows,” Leo said firmly.

o-o-o-o-o

“Josh, you've had a hundred and eighty-seven calls,” Donna said breathlessly, spinning around in her chair as he stepped into her cubicle. “Everyone from the Democratic leadership has called, many of whom did not go through their secretaries, but rather _yelled_ , with vigor, directly in my ear. Most of them are about the nomination, although I've also gotten a fair amount of screaming about a rumor going around that the Republicans are going to try to start legislating.”

“Always up on the times, those guys,” Josh cracked, rubbing his face. She looked at him woefully. “All right,” he sighed. “We'll start working on a release to send out, I need to meet with Toby and C.J. as soon as possib-” he broke off. “C.J.? What's going on?” Josh asked, spotting the woman racing away from her office.

“Ismael Sabir's giving a Press Conference,” C.J. muttered, grabbing Josh by the arm as she rushed down the hall.

“What? When?!” he asked shrilly.

“ _Now._ I'm on my way over there.”

“Has anyone read his statement?”

“It's not so much a statement as a _speech_. And no, I haven't!” C.J. snapped.

Josh hurried after her, as she reached the briefing room.

o-o-o-o-o

“...And so, the second terrorist attack that took place this morning reminded us of an important fact: It was not only 'the daughter of Josiah and Abigail Bartlet' that was taken from us two days ago. It was America's daughter.” The man looked out over his crowd, his strong voice carrying clearly amongst the throng. “Therefore, we must acknowledge that this wasn't just an attack on the President of the United States - Jed Bartlet, the man - for any such attack is inherently an attack on all of us, and an attack on his child is an attack on all of our children.” He paused. “Never before has our leader seemed so human - and yet neither has he ever seemed so brave, nor so wise. We stand by him today as his constituents and as fellow Americans, devoted to seeing justice served, and prepared to welcome back our President with the open arms of love and family. We have faith, faith in the Lord above, and in our officers here on Earth, that Zoey Bartlet and the other hostages will be rescued and brought home safely. We have faith that our nation is secure, and that in the face of tragedy only grows stronger - and that while there will always be evil in the world, there will also be those that overcome it.” His face shone fiercely out over the crowd, his eyes glistening. “I am _honored_ to be nominated as Vice President of this great nation, and I hope to help lead it – and in doing so I invite you, the people, to join me, as we stand loyally behind our leader. Together we will wield our mighty government, we will remind America's enemies that our fierceness is not in jeopardy, and when one of us is compromised, our strength perseveres. When our enemies dare to attack our children, and attempt to divide us and sow fear, our nation perseveres. Through this crisis and forever more, we will show again and again our community as it stands together to support and heal, only growing stronger out of our suffering. My heart goes out to the families of all the victims, and let us continue to stand together to bring them safely home. Thank you. May God bless you, and may God bless America.”

 

o-o-o-o-o COMMERCIAL o-o-o-o-o

 

“What the hell was that?!” Jeff Haffley snapped, storming into Josh's office.

“Josh, Congressman Haffley is here to see you,” Donna peeped her head in behind him, giving him an apologetic look.

“Please, sit down, Congressman,” Josh invited, taking a swig of the bottle of water sitting on his desk.

“I'll stand, thanks,” Haffley said snidely. He glared at Josh. “Might I remind you that you are not the majority in this country?”

“That's funny. We were the majority when we got Josiah Bartlet elected President,” Josh replied.

“Maybe the second time,” Haffley sneered. “Listen here, Josh-”

“No, you listen, _Jeff,”_ Josh retorted, stepping around his desk to face him eye-to-eye. _“_ You might be the lapdog of the biggest kid on the playground right now, but don't you forget for a _minute_ that there's a letter, waiting in a drawer right now, and it's got your name on it. You better be careful how many toes you stomp on before that letter gets sent out, because it's not going to be pretty. I might not have thought Sabir had a snowflake's chance in hell when I gave his name to Walken, but I swear to _God,_ he's going to be sitting in John Hoyne's office by the time I'm done here - so you better wipe that smug look off your face, because one of us is going to look like an idiot at the end of this, and it's not going to be me.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Haffley smirked at him. “I don't think you need to worry too much though. We've picked out our own nominee, which will go over a lot better the second time around, right about the time when you're busy looking like an idiot.”

“Who?” Josh demanded.

“Bob Russell,” Haffley smiled gloatingly, causing Josh to shut his eyes in consternation.

o-o-o-o-o

Title: One and a Half Hours Before First Scheduled Assassination

o-o-o-o-o

“Bingo Bob?!” C.J. yelled, pacing through Josh's office.

“That's what he said,” Josh replied stiffly. “Can you believe the nerve of them?”

“Does he seriously think he can force us into nominating Russell?” she asked incredulously.

“It certainly seems so,” Josh said warily, perching on his desk.

“There's no way – no _way_ – it's going to happen,” Toby breathed, before C.J. could spit out a retort. “After that show in there...if Sabir doesn't get confirmed, there's no chance Congress isn't going to approve whomever we put up next. It'd be downright unpatriotic. The people would go nuts.”

“It was a stroke of genius,” Josh murmured. “Anyone know anything about it? How it got _started_?”

“I think the real question is, what are we going to do about Haffley?” Will said hastily.

“What's there to do?” C.J. asked. “We're going to fight back.”

“Easier said than done,” Will said, but C.J., Josh, and Toby merely exchanged looks, the fire building in each of them.

“We're going to _crush him_ ,” Josh clarified.

“Bring it on,” C.J. said vehemently, smiling for the first time in days.

o-o-o-o-o

In the Oval Office, Glen Allen Walken sat alone, peering over maps of the Middle East, a bead of sweat on his forehead - his mind, for the moment at least, light years away from any of the internal politics around him. He glanced up, his eyes falling on the picture of Zoey Bartlet still framed on the corner of the desk, her bright smile shining through the portrait. He closed his eyes, jumping at the knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called. Debbie Fiderer opened the door. “Sir,” she said pointedly. “You have another meeting with the Qumari Ambassador in five minutes, Leo McGarry will be joining you. I've also got Agent Casper out here, he'd like a word if you're available.”

“Send him in,” Walken mumbled, closing the briefing folder in front of him, his eyes distraught.

She stepped aside, nodding the man in, his face expressionless as he took a seat across from the President.

o-o-o-o-o

Title: Forty-five Minutes Before The First Scheduled Assassination

o-o-o-o-o

Jed Bartlet stood in the doorway, spotting the familiar silhouette hunched over, facing away from the desk, a pen lying abandoned in his lap as he snapped a rubber band from a ball of them.

“Toby.”

The man snapped the rubber ball tightly, causing it to snap back on him painfully as he turned in his chair, startled.

“I'm sorry,” Bartlet said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“Not at all, Mr. President,” Toby replied, standing. “Is there anything I can do for you?” His voice softened. “Anything at all?”

“I was just wondering if you had a cigarette.” He smiled. “I hide them, Abbey finds them, Abbey throws them away...”

“You're welcome to a cigar,” Toby gestured, reaching for the box in his desk.

“Nah, no thanks. I'll find someone on the staff.” He looked at the pad of paper that had fallen when Toby stood so abruptly. “That it?”

“Sir?”

“Is that the speech?”

Toby looked at him.

“It's the speech.”

The President nodded. “I saw Sabir's. Hell of a wordsmith.”

“Yes, Sir,” Toby said hoarsely.

“Will write it?”

Toby paused. “I think so, Sir.”

“We should give him a raise.”

Toby nodded. “From your mouth to Congress's ears,” he joked.

The President nodded to the notepad. “Can I read it?”

Toby hesitated. “It's not finished.”

The President gazed at him. “Is it the bad one?”

Toby looked at him. “No, Sir,” he picked it up, handing it to him. “It's not the bad one.”

“Where's that one?” Jed asked, his eyes starting to trickle over the words on the page, before stopping, blinking.

“Sam's writing it,” Toby said softly, putting his hands in his pockets. Bartlet nodded, giving his attention back to the paper in his hand.

o-o-o-o-o

“Sir!” Leo turned abruptly, gazing down the hall towards the ringing voice. He spotted Ron Butterfield jogging towards him, his face exuberant.

“Ron-”

He knew it was coming before the words came, but they filled him with desperate, unbridled relief when they finally reached his ears.

“We found them, Leo.” Ron smiled tightly, his joy scarcely contained. “We've got 'em.”

o-o-o-o-o

The Bartlets, Fitzwallace, and the family of the other victims joined a crowd of press and security, the sounds of sirens drowning out their thoughts and tears. As Jed and Abigail raced across a field, the hunched figure of Zoey Bartlet appeared, her face blank and devoid of tears as her parents reached her. She was drowned in their embrace, her mother touching her face, examining her injuries, hot tears rushing down her cheeks. Behind her stood her other two daughters, eager but somehow frozen, watching, letting their parents bring their youngest sister back into the world that had shattered almost three days before.

Zoey blinked. “Mom?” She looked at her parents. “Mommy?”

“I'm here, baby girl,” Abbey said, kissing her forehead.

“ _Daddy!_ ” Zoey whispered.

“I'm here, sweetheart.”

Zoey collapsed into her father's arms, and unnoticed by any of them, the cameras clicked away. It was the image that flooded the country that evening – Zoey Bartlet, beaten and bruised, dried blood on her face, in the strong protective arms of her father, with the headline below, two words that echoed on every news station – _America's Daughter._

 

o-o-o-o-o COMMERCIAL o-o-o-o-o

 

The room had a stately silence as Jed Bartlet entered, seeing his senior staff assembled in a line, waiting for him to take his place ahead of them. President Walken stood in the center of the room, looking older than he had only days ago.

“You ready, Sir?” Leo asked, the paper in his hand. Jed nodded. “Are _you_ ready?” Bartlet addressed Walken.

Walken gave a silent nod, seeming smaller somehow as Jed stepped closer. Leo handed him the paper, and Jed Bartlet signed – and with that, it was done.

“You want to stick around for the press conference?” Bartlet asked, but Walken shook his head. “I think I've seen enough of this room for awhile,” he replied dryly. Bartlet nodded, smiling. Walken nodded to the rest of the staff, striding steadily towards the door.

“Glen?”

The man turned at the President's voice, staring across the room.

“Thank you.”

Walken nodded, a small smile on his face, before closing the door behind him.

o-o-o-o-o

“As many of you already know, approximately one hour ago the FBI and Secret Service led a successful rescue of Zoey Patricia Bartlet, Secretary Lewis James Berryhill, Senator Gerald Anthony Rigsby, and Laura Gail Fitzwallace, following information gathered from analysis of released videos sent by the kidnappers.” C.J. addressed the crowd. “Those responsible were identified as Kazir terrorists, originating from Saudi Arabia and Qumar. They met U.S. agents with deadly force, and all three were killed in the raid on the house. There were no American fatalities as a result of the gunfight, although two federal agents sustained injuries, neither critical, and they are both expected to make full recoveries. The victims of the kidnappings are currently under medical care, although no permanent injuries have been reported. Zoey Bartlet has a broken clavicle and several fractured ribs, as well as various bruises and lacerations. We expect to have more information in the coming hours and days.” C.J. looked across the stage. “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

Bartlet stepped up to the podium, gazing out at the captivated faces before him.

“'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,'” he began. “Words I didn't fully understand, until our daughter was taken from us three days ago. Today, our hearts beat as one, as we reflect upon such simple truths as the preciousness of our children, and the need to stand together in adversity - for we are stronger together, and it is the bonds we share that give such poignancy to our lives. We face the world today stronger than we were before, with renewed conviction to defending the values which define us – family, freedom, unity, and perseverance.” President Bartlet paused. “I wish I could tell you that there was a new system, unbreachible, guaranteed to protect us, in the wake of such horrors. Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way. Security and defense are like fighting a many-headed monster, in which every time a head is cut off, another two takes its place. I tell you this not to frighten you, nor to discourage you, but to prepare you, for it is a formidable challenge we must continue to face. We must accept this knowledge rather than run from it, for only then can we meet it with the innovation and dedication which defines our people. With these tools, and more, I promise to fight with every fiber of my being, every weapon in our armory, and every ounce of God's grace, to keep us strong, and free, and safe...”

 


End file.
